Mirrored Perspectives
by The-Weaver-Of-Tales
Summary: A few days after the aftermath of the events of Persona 4 Arena, a group claiming responsibility appears with knowledge about the Dark Hour and the midnight channel, and with an apparent agenda that does not bode well for humanity.


_It's motive alone which gives character to the actions of men._  
_-Jean de la Bruyere_

* * *

A white flash and entombment.

Those were the memories in the forefront of the mind of the boy whose life resides in the great seal.

Anything before that seemed to have shattered to pieces; as if they were shards of history lost to time.

Perhaps it didn't matter anymore.

He knows he's here for a decision he made, and the reason lied in the life he lost.

The problem lies in that he can't remember anything, not even a single detail, about the life he left behind, which vexes him more then the loss of his own identity.

Perhaps it all started when the pain disappeared.

Most living beings, conscious or not, would see pain as a curse and a necessary evil: It would let them know there was injury, whether visable or not, and allow them to recuperate. For other members of man, pain is a mental hinderance to prevent them from being able to perform at their best. Pain, both physical and psychological, is something difficult to forget; the scars left behind could tell a tale that would bring most to tears, and they would be impossible to remove. However, some would embrace it, claiming it to be proof of the efforts put into their journey. A token to the trials they have faced.

However, if there's one thing that many overlook, is that pain would make a person feel _alive._

Pain allows one to focus, to concentrate and to block out any stray thoughts that would lead to giving up in tasks that they chose. Pain is a challenge to overcome, a challenge that the blue-haired boy would have accepted. Pain was a constant reminder for what he was fighting for, as it was through the blood, sweat, and tears that were shed his bonds were forged. It was a fuel for which he would use to hold onto the memories formed in his life to maintain strength and solidarity in purpose. It was one of the only things he could feel in this void.

But, without it...his mind began to wander, and his memory failing.

Faces that were once familiar seemed to drift away; his attempts at maintaining a hold on everything merely weakened his grip on them in the first place. At first the drift was for unimportant things: What he had for breakfast that day, or what clothes he wore, or perhaps what song he was listening to when he ascended to fight off a monsterous being of godlike power. It soon took away time spent with certain individuals, time spent with the people he met ticked away one by one, second by second by an everpresent clock in his mind, with a number of rotations that lacked definition in this black abyss. Shortly afterwards, the silent soundscape stripped the sole soul at the golden gate of the musical medley of sensations that those walking the Earth experience day in and day out to the point of complete desensitization. Finally, identities faded, leaving only feint traces of voices, with no face nor situation to match it to.

Now, it seemed as if he was there for an eternity.  
A prisoner of the cruel vicissitudes of fate.  
Alone and forgotten.

And then, a sharp pain in his solitude.

A cruel, mocking laughter resounding within the black nothingness accompanied with pain as if a hammer was taken to his form time and time again, with each time increasing the sensation tenfold. A maddening tone slowly scraping at his psyche like nails on a chalkboard as the assault continued in its unceasing task, feeling as if the sealed soul is slowly losing parts of hiself. The laughter continued resonating in the black void, as if it were a small cavern within which every small noise is amplified to infuriating heights before it fell deathly silent, with a inhumane, sadistic voice filling the void as the pain ceased.

_**"You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?"**_

A vision of a form swam through his consciousness. One of a black, endless, incomprehensible mass of masks and madness.

_**"A forgotten sacrifice for an ungrateful species...They will all die, in time."**_

The being tsked. This seemingly minor sound was soon followed by a sharp tormenting agony in the boy's existance, as if something was attempting to tear whatever remained of the blue boy to pieces as the voice continued.

_**"After all...they wish and pray for the end to come. You of all people know this."**_

Images flooded his senses: A death toll resounded within a red landscape. People collapsing as midnight-black beings descended upon them. A massive clock tower stood upon an isolated island with deserted fortifications at the ends of blown bridges with naught a soul to be seen. A handful of young men and women fighting of an endless horde of monstrosities born of the human mind.

_**"It will come sooner then later. As a matter of fact, there's quite a bit of people who are more then happy to continue the **_**good **_**work that fine gentleman, Kotetsu Kirijo, started. A pity, really...you did all this for nothing...oh well. I suppose Humanity's time would have come, regardless. And best of all, in the end, there is nothing. You. Can. Do. To stop it."**_

The presence began its laughter again, although what once resonated soon gave way to silence; the cackling of the fiend slowly disapating amongst the darkness. Stillness reigned as the presence withdrew to parts unknown along with the torment it brought. The soul in the great seal struggled within his self-imposed prison, yelling out into the black abyss, staring into it in an attempt to discern exactly what was being communicated. He understood nothing of it, and yet felt a need to find out more, as if inaction would doom his forgotten purpose. He toiled, attempting to break out and yet stay in at the same time: Something deep within said to stay, and yet another said to go. The Drudgery stretched out into infinity it seemed, feeling a tear increasing within his form; a self-imposed pain that seemed to be unavaliable to him before. His travail seemed to bear no fruit, and yet, he felt having not left at all...and yet floating away within the void. The voice whispered, He knew not where he goes, but yet, he felt at peace, and felt on the edge of all things; most prominently, the edge of a dream...and the edge of reality.

And unbeknownst to him and all those connected to him, a butterfly flutters watching and waiting, observing the events now unfolding...

_ Life is short, and shortly it will end;  
Death comes quickly and respects no one,  
Death destroys everything and takes pity on no one._

_Momento Mori. Remember that you will die._

* * *

Hello, all you beautiful ladies and gentlemen who have honored me with your choice to read the fanfiction that I have presented here. I've been on and off about deciding on what to write, finding out when to write, and, probably the biggest factor, finding the motivation to write. I've been constructing the plot, original characters, and interesting encounters beginning from the aftermath of Persona 4 Arena, and before i found out about Persona 4: Arena Ultimax/The Ultimax Ultra Suplex Hold, so I may or may not attempt to integrate factors from that into the story depending on whether or not it'll fit.

And, of course, please Review, maybe send a message, and possibly subscribe if only to show you're interested. Thank you and of course, have a wonderful day.

...Or night. Or morning. All depending on when you read this.


End file.
